Saturday, December 12, 2009


Why are you staying in alone on a Saturday night?

Because It's snowing outside, because its really fucking cold.

Why are you really staying in alone on a Saturday night?

Because I have mental problems.

I have been extended two separate Festively themed invitations for this evening both of which I have declined employing the most paper thin of excuses, cheap brown finger toilet-roll thin excuses. It is cold outside, but is that really reason enough to be sat in alone shut away from the world on a Saturday night? I know that in reality a Saturday night should be no different from any other day of the week but popular Western culture dictates that it's something else, something special. Saturday night is after all alright for fighting, worth spelling out whilst wearing platform heels and tartan trousers, a roller-skating jam and whatever the fuck it was Whigfield said it was. (I only recall the pigtails and Balearic piano).

Anyway, it's Saturday and not only have I done fuck all all day, I am about to do some more fuck all all night. I did watch a predictably disappointing Gus Van Sant film and ate what was supposed to be a Thai Curry although it ended up more like a paella but neither of those things would necessarily make it into my butterfly and heart covered private diary were I a teenage girl. But then if I were a teenage girl I would be putting out somewhere, putting out and taking naked pictures of myself.

Sadly tonight I am not a teenage girl, I am a close to middle aged married man living away from his wife for work based reasons, stuck in Germany alone and snowed in. (and as we have previously diagnosed mildly Agoraphobic). So what time killing techniques do I have at my disposal? Well, I have already Googled as much cartoon porn as one man can take, and whilst the site of Pocahontas having sex with a tree did kill some time it is still far too early to go to bed. I also caned a couple of beers and some bourbon, a mouth full of chocolate and some fruit juice but that only took as much time as it took. 

So what to do? What to do? Previous loose ends have seen me abuse medication, draw Hip-Hop based slogans over my body and super glue my thumbs to my fore fingers but that was in the days before the blog, before the outlet. Blog firmly in mind I am now midway through a randomly selected pile of records playing not entire albums but rather random tracks sat dead center between the two speakers moving only to lift the needle.

The idea is that this might culminate in some truly awesome playlist, a veritable 'All Back to Mine' if you will the main difference being that there is nobody back at mine apart from me. Me sat alone in my poorly furnished cold and temporary accommodation, records strewn and volume up loud enough to block the noise from outside, the Christmas party from the club opposite has decided to taunt my decision to opt out. Fuck that club seriously.

So the rules, pick a record play a track from that record - No Classical, no Jazz - You are allowed four 'Second Choices'...

Anyway, this is how it played out:

Rolling Stones - Dancing With Mr. D
Carolyn Franklin - Reality
Iggy Pop - Passenger 
Arto Neto - Pini Pini
The Troggs - I Can Only Give You Everything
John Phillips - April Anne
The Human League - The Dignity of Labour Pts 1 and 2
Gong - Wingful of Eyes
Butthole Surfers - Sea Ferring
Supreme Psychedelic Underground - Let Me Shoot You
Chrome - Zombie Warfare (Can't Let You Down)
Japan - Gentlemen Take Polaroids
Frank Zappa - Peaches En Regalia 
Francis Bebey - New Track
Sonic Youth - Expressway to Yr Skull
The Who - A Quick One While He's Away

Huh. Not so bad actually. The only big pothole in the proverbial road running-order wise is 'John Phillips - April Anne' . To be honest I just haven't warmed to that John Phillips album. I have it because it somehow makes sense next to the Dennis Wilson LP and 'If Only I Could Remember My Name' by David Crosby. Unfortunately whenever I do get around to playing it, it just leaves me feeling empty, empty bloated and ready to fart.

Oh and the Iggy Pop song was an unfortunate choice, much as I like him he has been the token punk of the mainstream mix tape ever since Danny Boyle relaunched his career courtesy of the film version of 'Trainspotting'.

Also it ends on two pretty lengthy tracks and whilst the merits of The Who song are beyond question in retrospect I should have played 'Boris the Spider' and then ended on something else but given the audience is a man in an ill-fitting t-shirt and his pants I probably shouldn't worry about it too much.

To Conclude: whilst there isn't one song here that I would actually have chosen to represent me were I portrayed in compilation form this was a pretty enjoyable random set to sit through. A particular highlight was the transition from Zappa to the crazy African Francis Bebey. And the entire exercise was worth it as a reminder of what a good album 'Rembrandt Pussyhorse' is.

...And it's still only just gone midnight. Looks like it's time to type 'Marge Simpson Anal' into Google search.